


The Rowan Staff

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bargaining, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:55:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28556469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: A priestess of the old religion, Hunith pleads with the High Priestess when she comes to take her son away. Years later, the Rowan Staff that she bargains away as his protection returns to Camelot. Morgana prepares to use it to seal her victory, but instead Merlin makes a bargain of his own with her.
Relationships: Hunith & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67
Collections: Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Round 11





	The Rowan Staff

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a hurt/comfort bingo extra. Fulfills the "loss of a treasured possession" and "bargaining for protection" squares on my 2020 hurt/comfort bingo card.   
> Not beta'ed I'm afraid!

***

“The child is ours.” The high priestess walks around Hunith, unblinking, booted feet making no sound on the dirt floor of the cottage. “It is time for us to take him.”

Hunith watches her, and Merlin hides behind her skirts so that they coil and bunch around her legs. 

“I refuse,” she says, lifting her chin. “He is too young. He is but a child!” 

“As the son of a dragonlord and a priestess, he will come into his powers soon, and he is ours.” 

“No. No,” she begs. “He has no powers. Not yet! Balinor must live still, for there has been no sign of magic!”

It is a lie. Although at barely three years of age Merlin is not yet weaned, the strength of his power is already all too obvious to her. He was lifting things with his mind before he could walk. But no, she cannot give him up, not now that she knows how strong he is. They will try to mould him into something terrible to carry out their plans. He will be a powerful weapon for the Old Religion. But she knows his gentle, inquisitive nature and his sweet, kind soul. She cannot let that come to pass. She will not! 

Snuffling, he hides his face in her skirts as she taught him. She reaches down to cup his head in one hand, running her hands through his unruly hair to reassure him. They can not see how his eyes glow when he gets upset. 

“Come, child.” The high priestess kneels to be closer to Merlin in height, but her voice is predatory rather than reassuring and it crackles with power.

“No.” Merlin slips behind Hunith, placing his mother’s body between him and the priestess. He continues hiding his face. “I won’t.”

“You can come willingly, or unwillingly,” she says, eyes flashing. “I would advise the former.” 

“Come now, Nimueh,” says Hunith, heart pounding, for she understands the depth of the threat even if Merlin does not. “He is but a boy. What possible use can he be to you?” 

“The prophecy--”

“You know as well as I do how vague and insubstantial prophecies can be.” 

“The prophecy speaks of the son of a dragonlord returning magic to Camelot,” hisses Nimueh. “How many sons do you think Balinor has fathered?” 

“Maybe the chosen one could be my son, but we do not know that yet!" Hunith argues. "He has shown no sign of any powers at all. Surely it makes more sense for you to wait until he manifests some magic, rather than feed another mouth?” 

Things have not been easy, on the Isle of the Blessed, in recent years. Harvests have been poor. Hunith knows she has struck home when Nimueh straightens her chin. 

“I have a suggestion,” Hunith adds, biting her lip. It will be a wrench, but… “I… I hate to relinquish my trust but it can help you, if you wish. Take this as a token of my respect.” She bows, and reaches behind her, groping for the artefact that she was entrusted with as a girl, presenting it with both hands and bowed head, as the custom demands. “Here. It was carved of the Rowan Tree on the Isle and entrusted to me when I left. Take it. And leave my son with me. For of the two, a boy not yet weaned, and a staff made from the wood of the holiest tree on the Isle, surely the Rowan Staff is the greater treasure?” 

The wood is warm and smooth on her fingers and she hates to relinquish the staff, but perhaps this is what Niniane meant when she entrusted it to Hunith? As she recalls, Niniane’s exact words were “Use this to protect the boy.”  She did not specify how. Perhaps this was what she meant? Using the staff as a bargaining chip, to barter a few more years of Merlin’s life to be spent with her, learning his morality from her rather than adopting the cold, transactional values of the religion that Hunith escaped. 

Nimueh gasps and her eyes glitter, greedy by the light of the fire. “Where did you get this?” 

“It was entrusted to me," repeats Hunith. "And I am willing to entrust it to you in turn.” 

“What is to stop me from taking it from you, and the boy as well?”

“It is a staff of power that can only be passed down as a gift, as well you know,” says Hunith, her voice hardening. “Or it will seek its own revenge. You may have it, as a gift and go. And in return, you must leave us in peace and agree that my son stays with me until he comes to you of his own free will.”

Nimueh blinks and Hunith waits. 

The bargaining chip has been played. The Goddess will not permit any false agreement. The stakes are high indeed. 

“I accept,” Nimueh says eventually. The whirling gold in her eyes dims and she steps forward to take the rowan staff. “It will return to the Isle of the Blessed. The boy will come to us when he is ready. The bargain is set.” 

***

Merlin faces Morgana, wracked with indecision, voices warring in his head. On the one side, Kilgharrah’s voice still rings out strong and true in his mind. _“Your determination to see goodness in people will be your undoing...”_ while on the other, a memory of  Morgana’s tear-stained face flashes before him, expressing all her regrets at her deeds. _“You don’t know how much I regret everything that I’ve done!”_ And with that, he knows he has to try to reach that pure heart of hers. It is still there, deep down, and it can be rescued. In his bones he is convinced of it, whatever Kilgharrah might say. 

“You should leave now, while you still can,” says Morgana. Her sword raised, she circles around him, eyes as sharp as her sword and filled with vengeance. 

“Morgana, please. I beg you. Women and children are dying. The city will fall”

“Good.”

“No. You don’t mean that.” 

“I have magic, Merlin. Uther hates me… and everyone like me. Why should I feel any differently about him?”

“You of all people could change Uther’s mind. But doing this? Using Magic like this will only harden his heart.” 

“You don’t have magic, Merlin. How can you hope to understand?”

“I do understand, believe me!” Merlin stops and looks away for a moment, indecision pulling at him. 

“How can you?” she cries, her voice raw with emotion. 

The dragon and Gaius would tell him not to trust her. But she had a pure heart, once. She defended Ealdor with him. She is brave and does not fear standing up to evil in defence of the defenceless. If anyone can reach her, he can. Does she not deserve one last chance to redeem herself? 

“I understand because… I, too, have magic.” Decision made, he gazes defiantly back at her. 

“What?” Letting out a bitter laugh, she raises her proud chin. “You’re trying to trick me. Hoping to poison me again?” 

“No.” Holding his hand out in front of him in readiness to defend himself, Merlin shakes his head, repeating more softly, “no. I will never willingly harm another soul except to defend myself or others from harm. And you should vow the same.” 

“I will vow nothing of the sort.” She lifts her hand to grasp the rowan staff, but Merlin is quicker. 

Hand outstretched, he wills it to come to him. Words of power come to him easily and fall from his lips like jewels, condemning him and redeeming him in equal measure. 

She watches him, incredulous as the magic tugs at the staff. 

“I don’t care if you do have magic,” she scoffs, eyes limned with gold, tugging it back with her own magic. “Surely you are weak. A poor imitation of a hedge wizard. But the rowan staff will destroy you. For it answers only to a priestess of the old religion.” 

“Or to the son of one,” he says calmly. The staff's power reaches to his and a surge of recognition thrills through him. The warmth of its magic floods his veins, and he raises his voice in triumph. 

“The son…” Her lips parts, eyes wide with disbelief and her voice trails off into a whisper. “Emrys? That’s the secret you were hiding from us? ” 

“You should thank me.” Abruptly, the staff springs free of her grip and passes into his hands, as if coming home. It is warm at his fingertips, and smooth through handling by many reverent hands. “It was never intended for evil use. It destroys those who misuse it.” 

“No!” she screams. Her eyes flash orange and she holds out her hand. _“Onbregdan!“_ she cries, but the staff just trembles beneath his touch and then is still. 

“My mother imbued it with her protection, when she bargained with the high priestess to keep me,” says Merlin, projecting as much confidence into his speech as he can muster. He shuffles his feet, but stands his ground, the staff held out in front of him. “You cannot use it against me.”

Eyes narrowing, mouth compressing to a spiteful rosebud, she spins about. She’s looking for something. A weapon, perhaps, or an escape route. During his training sessions, Arthur always drums into his men the importance of keeping escape routes open for themselves and of cutting off their opponents from their allies. No doubt Morgana has learned the same strategies. 

“It’s over, Morgana,” he says to deflect her. 

The door is behind her. She could still evade him if she is quick. If this is to work, he must put his body between hers and the exit. 

“Never!” she protests, her voice cracking.

Sensing her panic, he lowers his voice. Like a cornered animal, she is dangerous, he must never forget that. 

“But it’s not too late for you to change your mind,” Merlin says, holding his gaze as steady as he can while he moves to cut off her escape, slowly as if circling a frightened bird. “Together, we can restore magic to Camelot.” With the rowan staff in his left hand, he holds out the right hand for her to shake, beckoning. “Come. Join me.” 

Instead, she lets out a sob, and her eyes glisten with tears. “You tried to poison me.” 

“You left me to be chained in a nest of serkets.” 

“I suppose I did.” She lets out a choked laugh. “But you escaped, although I have no idea how.”

He shrugs. “What can I tell you? Serkets are no match for a dragon.” 

"A dragon?" she gapes. “You are a dragonlord. But there are no dragons left. Arthur killed the las--” her voice trails off and she eyes Merlin with an incredulousness that he would be offended by.

“I see you find it hard to believe.” He smiles humourlessly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“I can never trust you again.” 

Her entire focus is on him now. Will she attack? Surrender? Run? He tenses, steeling himself for any contingency.

“You can’t,” he admits. “Just as I can never trust you. But there are others who love you still, Morgana. Think of Gwen and Arthur. They have no reason to mistrust you and you must know that they wish you no ill! Would you harm them, just because they have the misfortune to live in Uther’s kingdom?”

She looks uncertain and her hands waver. “I… Gwen… I… Gwen, perhaps. But she made a choice to stay here. With… with Uther. That murderer.” She spat out Uther’s name. “But Gwen… but… I… I… I have done terrible things…” Her eyes glisten, wet with tears. “What will she think of me?”

He is reaching her, he is sure of it. The dragon’s warning voice sounds in his head, but he ignores it. There has to be a way for her to come back to them, and he has to try!

“She will think that you were forced by circumstance and by the choices of others into making some terrible decisions,” he says cautiously, not wanting to alienate her by condemning Morgause too strongly, nor to drive her from Arthur by condemning Uther. 

“Must she know?” 

“I’ll leave that to you to answer for yourself.” 

“I--” 

Sensing his advantage, Merlin decides to press. “If… If you repent of the evils that you have done, if you come back to us… think of all the good that you can do. You and me, together. All the healing. All the needless deaths prevented. All the magic users protected…” 

“I will not help Uther. That murderer…” 

“You say Uther is a murderer and yet there are so many that you have killed without compunction. How do you have the right, where he does not?” 

“I regret… I regret that. But…” 

Merlin watches the emotions play across her face, and wonders which of them are genuine. He takes a guess.

“You feel powerless, I get that,” he said gently. “As a woman, probably even more so than me as a mere servant. But the wind of change is coming. When Arthur is king, magic will be restored to the kingdom. Join us, Morgana. Things will be different, I swear. Think of all the good things you can do…” 

“How can you be sure?” she whispers. 

“I can’t,” he says shortly. “But I can promise you that I will try.” 

“You would reveal yourself to Uther?” 

Merlin swallows. “Not to him, no. But…” he risks quirking an eyebrow. “Arthur on the other hand…” 

***

Some years later

***

The group that approaches the Isle of the Blessed is a strange one. At the front, a pair of priestesses - one dark, one fair. Behind, a pair of men, their colouring similarly contrasting, one bearing a golden crown on his regal head, the other clad in robes of midnight - and between them, a diminutive, grey-haired woman atop a pale mare. Behind them ride an array of knights clad in mail with blood-red cloaks. The hooves of their horses land soft on the silty beach.

In the middle of the party, the woman on the mare holds out a hand for one of the men to help her dismount. 

“Are you sure about this, my son?” she whispers as she lands, standing on tiptoe so that she can speak into his ear without anyone else overhearing. 

“Aye, it is time, mother.” He smiles down at her. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.” 

She snorts at that, plucking an imaginary piece of lint from the rich velvet of his collared robe. “You’re making it up as you go along. You can’t fool your own mother.” 

Far across the water, a horn sounds. Its outcry is taken up by other, more distant horns. 

The blond woman who leads the party turns. 

“Emrys,” she says sternly. “We have restored Arthur to the throne. It is time for you to fulfil your part of the bargains that were made, long ago.” 

“I am ready,” he says, although he is not. 

Lifting the staff he bears above his head, he breathes out the words of power. Green light streaks up from the staff to the sky far above them, where it spreads, making a heavenly light play on the canopy of the sky. Flashes of green and gold radiate from the sorcerer’s skin. 

The others watch, dumbstruck, as the light glides across the water and bathes them all in magic. 

“Magic is returning to the world at last,” intones a sonorous voice. The light winks out and when they look back at the sorcerer, the staff has gone. “The Rowan Staff is returned.” 

But who has spoken? Fearful, the knights look around for its source. The sound of wings fills the air and the brave knights gasp and cower as the skies darken, filled with impossible shapes and noises. 

“Dragons?” whispers the fair king who rides by Emrys’s side. “You didn’t mention anything about dragons, Merlin.” 

Merlin smiles at his lord and dips his head in acknowledgement. 

“Oops?” he says.

***END***

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, I'm not getting paid for this work.


End file.
